


War is unforgiving

by paleolithic_hero



Category: The Things They Carried - Tim O'Brien
Genre: Vietnam War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paleolithic_hero/pseuds/paleolithic_hero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story of original characters based in the Vietnam war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War is unforgiving

**Author's Note:**

> This was a short work that I did for an assignment back a few years ago in an English class. I'm no sure if I plan to have more to this or leave it as is.

It was a drizzly Sunday and all Murphy Carter could think about was how he would be at holly communion right now instead of Vietnam. How he would be kneeling in front of the neatly lined up pews that were hand made from oak with the cushions cover read. Instead he was sitting in an APC on a ride into the nearest village. His hand should be holding a piece of freshly baked bread. Hands now smudge with what was once foreign dirt; gripping hold of the M-16 gas-operated assault rifle he was issued. His mouth and nose should be tasting and smelling the bitter sweet aged wine that the pastor held in a gold chalice. Now he could smell the scent of their damp equipment that had been soaked in the heavy rain earlier that morning. 

The ride was the easy part of the day. Behind thick aluminum he squatted down in the small space he was given. Murphy was the new kid in the squad, just barely graduated high school before the draft hit him. There was not a single thought in his mind about getting out of combat, his dad was too proud to see him off. 

Ricky Ruger was sat opposite of him, fiddling with his lighter. He continued to flick the switch which ignited a small flame on the wick and just as quick as he did that Ricky flipped the lid down, suffocating the fire. Murphy was the only one within the squad to call the man by his real name, everyone else went with the nickname he gained in the first month of being in Nam. Tank. The named seemed to suit him from just looks. Ricky was muscular man with a strong jaw, about 6’3”. He was a quite trooper, always kept his thoughts to himself, though that did not take away from his name. The platoon left him on charge of explosives since he had a specialty for blowing things up, hardly ever did he miss a target. The other member of the platoon had a cheer they would yell out as Ricky set something up in flames and smoke, they all liked to call “al la boom”. He was not French, none of them were but somehow it seemed fitting to add the accent to it.

Murphy made good friends with Ricky. Both of them were missing someone back home. Ricky missed the company of his younger brother who was a freshman in high school. Murphy missed his parents since he was an only child. The loneliness they had built their bond strong. Ricky Ruger has an empty hole that was once filled by his brother and Murphy seemed to fill that gap nicely. They looked after one another, not only to make sure they were safe physically but mentally. Each of them kept the other’s mind off the deeper darker parts of the war along with missing home. 

Whenever they got time to wander a little bit away from the others they would talk. Nothing personal or something that would cause them to think much about negative things, they would have simple conversations. Such as talking about what dogs they found to be the best and what their old school classrooms looked like, just something to keep their minds off of what would hit them in the long run. 

Placing a hand against the wall beside him at the vehicle gave a jump. Ricky smirked at the kid at how he was still not use to riding in the truck. Murphy rolled his emerald eyes at his friend. He most likely would have skipped over the sarcastic eye roll if he knew what was to happen next. Instead he probably would have told him that he wished they were brothers, how he wished he smiled. 

As soon as the two met each other’s eyes everything went blurry for Murphy. He was not sure where he was or what was happening. All he knew was that his body felt numb and his head hurt. When his vision came back he noticed bright reds and oranges out of the corner of his eye. What he seen in front of him was what caused pain to his numb body. Just a single arm laid in front of him, not attached to anything but it still held tight on one thing. Within the burnt and bloody grasp was a lighter with the word Lisa craved into the steal. Ricky’s mother was Lisa Ruger a widow of two sons, one was in school and the other died in war.

It was a freshly baked apple pie. The crust still had visible heat roll off of it. Her silver knife cut into it easily but removing it from the dish was slightly tricky. Murphy watched as his mother scooped a perfectly sliced piece of pie on the dish in front of him. It felt nice to see his mother’s lightly wrinkled face with her strawberry blond hair gently flow around her soft features. He was about to reach out to her, wanting to just feel her arm underneath his hand. When he did out stretch his arm his vision changed. No longer did his mother stand on the other side of the table. Now a younger girl with light brown hair pulled back under a white cap stood over him with innocent and shocked eyes as he sat up abruptly screaming for his mother. He just wanted answers, he just wanted something familiar, he just wanted comfort. He did get his wish when the young girl’s arms embraced his soar and bruised body. Even though it hurt he wrapped his cut and burnt arms around her as he let tears roll off his cheek into her shirt.


End file.
